


Growing Pains

by Cardinnal



Category: MapleStory
Genre: Acute Stress Reaction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Conversations, Blood and Injury, Concussions, Drabble Collection, Gen, Hemophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Morse Code, Near Death Experiences, Non-Linear Narrative, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Sensory Overload, Swearing, headcanon heavy, mun has a personal canon that spans several years leading up to present canon, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2020-04-07 13:11:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19085737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cardinnal/pseuds/Cardinnal
Summary: It can be easy to forget that the chief knights weren’t always as powerful as they are now.---A collection of non-chronological glimpses into formative moments between the chief knights.Applicable content warnings are listed in the chapter notes.





	1. Irena and Mihile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irena and Mihile didn't always get along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this canon, Irena's kidnapped instead of Dunamis.
> 
> Please note the applicable tags for this chapter:  
> \- blood and injury  
> \- swearing

The two knights don’t say anything to each other until the prison is half an hour behind them.

Irena hasn’t felt this battered in a long time and she winces, knowing that she’s slowing them down. Beside her, Mihile stares straight ahead with a pale, tight-lipped determination she’s never seen in him before. “Why did you come to save me?” she asks.

He doesn’t answer her, not even when they see the distraught Kiriru who hurriedly ushers them aboard a small airship, nor when he falls to his knees at the sight of the petrified residents of Ereve. He doesn’t say anything even when the cloaked witch who had assaulted Ereve disappears.

Even as he’s led away by a group of medics, he still has no answer for her.

It’s not until the next day that Irena has a chance to sit with him. Her ribs still hurt and her hip protests when she puts too much weight on it but she makes her way to his room nonetheless. The blinds are open, letting in warm beams of sunlight. He’s staring out the window and he barely tilts his head to acknowledge her.

“Why?” she asks again.

One of his arms is tucked against his bandaged chest in a loose sling and it seizes her attention. The more she stares at it, the more she thinks she hates seeing this impulsive, hypocritical, bullheaded kid hurt like this.

 _Huh_.

He doesn’t look at her. “I know you’d have done the same for me,” he says.

Irena can’t hide the scoff that reflexively escapes her lips. “Like hell I would've. It was suicidal of you to even step foot into that prison.”

He shrugs with one shoulder. His head dips and he cradles his injured arm closer to himself with the other. “I don’t care.”

 _And neither do I_ is sharp and on the tip of her tongue, but there’s something about his wounds - _wounds that he willingly took for her sake_ \- that makes her mouth go dry so she sits there in silence.

She wonders wryly if it’s the painkillers that are making her kinder, gentler when she shouldn’t be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always wished that Irena was more antagonistic to Mihile in canon when they first meet instead of being so generically _nice_. Friendships that have passed through fire and run deeper than any other loyalty? Yes _please_. I def will write more of them in the future.
> 
> Also... Canon is so _unreliable_. I've seen versions where Dunamis is captured, and another where he just stumbles into a racial conflict in Leafre? Regardless of whatever's considered canon, he needs to get his act together :/
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! You can also come say hello on [Tumblr](http://cardinnal.tumblr.com) :)


	2. Hawkeye and Oz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye and Oz didn’t always have the grit to make decisions at the drop of a dime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the applicable tags for this chapter:  
> \- hemophobia  
> \- blood and injury  
> \- swearing

“Stay with me, Hawkeye.”

“I’m with ‘ya, Oz.”

Oz inhales sharply, her voice high-pitched and reedy with worry. “If you were really with me, you’d stand properly instead of putting your full weight on me!”

He laughs but all that comes out is a wet cough instead. The snow beneath him is stained red. “… Fuck.”

Oz sputters and nearly trips over herself. Another strangled, panicked giggle heaves out of her small frame, leaving puffs of smoke in the frigid air. “Yeah! We’re so fucked! What the hell happened, Hawkeye?”

Just as he opens his mouth, a sudden dip in the snow makes him stumble. He pulls Oz down with him and they land in a pile. The gashes in his side and thigh both stretch in an excruciating way and for a moment Hawkeye’s vision goes completely white.

The powdery snow is cold but soothing against his face. He’s tempted to ask Oz to dismiss whatever magic she has on him that’s keeping him warm.

“-keye, Hawkeye, _please_ ,” he hears Oz pleading, so he fights to stay awake. “Please, stay with me.”

“’m trying, I sw—“

“Well, try harder!” she cries, sprawling onto her knees beside him. She turns aside and tangles her hands in her bright red hair, curling up on herself. “What are we going to do? Fuck!”

Hawkeye takes a deep breath and presses his torn cape closer to his side. He tries to focus his thoughts elsewhere.

“There’s, there’s so much blood, Hawkeye,” Oz whimpers. Hawkeye looks over at her and her eyes are wild, her hands pulling at her hair. Tears are streaming down her cheeks and _oh_ , Hawkeye can’t stand seeing her like that. “I can’t- I, you’re bleeding so _much_ , Hawkeye. What can I do?”

There’s a painful lump in his throat but Hawkeye forces it down alongside the metallic tang of iron. “How far ‘til the rendezvous point?” The question comes out in one breath. Hawkeye doesn’t know if he has it in him to ask anything else.

Oz blinks hard and a few more heavy droplets roll down and drip off her chin. Her bottom lip is still wobbly but he can see the gears starting to spin in her head. Good. Something, anything to keep her brilliant mind occupied and her eyes away from him.

“At our current pace…” she starts, her voice quivering. She sniffles and wipes at her eyes with the palm of her hand. “I don’t know, maybe… maybe an hour away?”

Hawkeye gathers all of his strength and manages to push himself up onto one arm. Oz’s protests are completely muted by the racking pain shooting up his side. She lays a hand on his chest to stop him, and oh, her eyes are still glistening wet.

The sight jolts loose something painful and ashamed in him and if he had any breath left, it'd tear it right out of him. He rallies and pushes past her trembling hand into a sitting position.

“Hawkeye, you shouldn’t move-“ she gasps and cuts herself off. He watches her expression pull tight and her face go even paler as another pulse of heat floods across his already-ruined shirt.

“We’re gonna make it,” he swears through gritted teeth, clenching at his side even as white-hot pain lances through him again. “ _We’re gonna make it._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://cardinnal.tumblr.com)!


	3. Mihile and Hawkeye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye gets a lot of mail. It meant something different, back then.

“Fall asleep doing paper work again?”

Hawkeye lifts his head (when did he even pass out?) and sees Mihile watching him with a soft, bemused smile. It must be fairly late at night then, if Mihile’s back and out of his armour.

“There was another package for you at the docks today,” Mihile says, and heaves a large box onto Hawkeye’s desk. A few papers are scattered by the slight puff of air as he sets it down.

“Hm.”

“It must be nice, getting this much mail,” Mihile says off-handedly, turning the box to look at its labels.

Hawkeye props his head up on one hand. There are bits of glitter and cute stickers stuck to the sides of the box and he already knows who it’s from.

“Roxanne, Lith Harbour,” Mihile reads, his eyebrows raised a little. “That’s your sister’s name, isn’t it?”

Hawkeye sighs. “They must be getting desperate if they’re making Roxy sign off on these boxes.”

“ _Desperate_?”

“My folks want me off of Ereve and back home,” he grumbles. “That’s why they’re sending up so much mail.”

Mihile doesn’t answer and stares at Hawkeye, his arms crossed and his face in a scowl.

“... What?”

“Do you really think that’s the only reason?”

Hawkeye shrugs. “Yeah, what other reason is there?”

“It could be that your family actually really cares about you,” Mihile says, watching him. He looks utterly incredulous but Hawkeye has no idea why. "Or that they want to make sure that you're safe and cared for. You've been getting letters, too - have you been reading those?"

Hawkeye doesn't look at the bin of unopened envelopes that are set aside on his desk. He's sure Mihile can see them, but he nods anyway. He takes the box and sets it on the ground next to the other two from last week. When he looks up, Mihile's scowl is deeper.

"The least you could do is  _open_ them," Mihile snaps. "It's a waste leaving them sitting around like that."

This is the first time he's seen Mihile suddenly get so angry. By the time he recovers, the door's already slammed shut and Mihile is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://cardinnal.tumblr.com)! :)c


	4. Eckhart and ???

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fleetingly, Eckhart remembers his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the applicable tags for this chapter:  
> \- blood and injury  
> \- near death experience

When Eckhart comes to, his first thought is that he shouldn’t be alive.

The inhale that follows makes his whole body burn with fresh pain. His second thought is that his shoulder and neck are much, _much_ wetter and hotter than they really should be. He might be dying.

He exhales slowly the way his father taught him when pain was too much to bear. He’s still for a moment until his chest seizes and his body remembers that he _needs to keep breathing_ if he wants to live. He chokes on the bitter tang of gunpowder and blood in his throat but manages another breath.

Something brushing against his face interrupts his third thought. He opens an eye and makes out a smudge of emerald green through the red haze. The figure is backlit by a blazingly white light and they're leaning over him, murmuring something…

A hand brushes gently through his hair and he closes his eyes, chasing the feeling. Although he has no idea who this figure is, just them being here is strangely comforting.

The feeling of their hand and the sound of their voice vanish when another dull explosion makes the ground shake. Debris rains down and he’s jostled as the figure lunges to cover him.

His last thought is that at least he won't die alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about writing Mihile brooding about Chromile for Father’s Day but I think I’ll save that for later :)c
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://cardinnal.tumblr.com)!


	5. Irena and Mihile II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unfamiliar face on Ereve opens new and old wounds alike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the applicable tag for this chapter:  
> \- blood and injury

“What do you mean, _you were the one who brought him to Ereve_?!” Mihile shouts and Irena has to let go of the bandages she’s been carefully wrapping around his thigh. "Does Neinheart know? What were you  _thinking_?"

“Mihile, listen to me—”

“He could’ve killed Kiriru," he snaps and pointedly gestures at his half-bandaged thigh and shoulder, "or done worse if I hadn’t been there to stop him."

Irena forces herself to relax her jaw and breathe. Mihile’s anger is intense and infectious and she can’t afford to lose herself to it, especially not about this. “You don’t know the full picture, I just—”

“What more is there to this ‘ _picture_ ’” —Irena winces when he raises his hands to make air quotes and a burst of red blooms from underneath his bandaged shoulder— “than the fact that you brought a hostile assassin to Ereve just because of some _gut feeling_?”

 _That_ gets under her skin and prods at a sleeping beast that Irena hasn’t thought about in years. “Don’t you _dare_ talk about Ventus like that,” she grits out. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Mihile turns to her with a sneer. “Is Ventus why you had to be put on life support after Neinheart rescued you from that suicide mission, then?”

Without warning, fury overtakes Irena’s bewilderment and, distinctly, she knows they’re approaching the edge of a dangerous precipice. “I can’t believe you, _of all people_ , are lecturing me about going on _suicide missions_ —”

“Why none of us were allowed to see you for a whole week?” he continues.

“Mihile—”

“ _Why we thought you’d died saving some_ nobody _from the streets_?”

Whatever counterargument she’d come up with vanishes. Suddenly, she’s acutely aware that Mihile’s chest is heaving. His eyes are frantic, wet around the edges. Her heart aches and she sits back down.

He looks away, shaking faintly. No words come to her to comfort him.

Slowly, carefully, she reaches for the abandoned bandages. 

He doesn’t stop her. She finishes dressing his wounds in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ventus is the spirit of wind's name, in case that wasn't clear!
> 
> Really, you ought to be wearing gloves in any medical setting but at this point in my abstract timeline they've dressed each others’ wounds in the field at least once already. So. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> I'm surprised but _very_ happy with where this ended up :)) This is probably my favourite drabble I've written so far.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://cardinnal.tumblr.com) as well :)


	6. Eckhart and ?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eckhart slips up and learns something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the applicable tags for this chapter:  
> \- concussions  
> \- blood and injury  
> \- swearing
> 
> Edited this chapter to make the severity of the collateral damage more apparent. (Jan/20)

Before his mind is even fully awake, Eckhart’s body is already on the move. The ear-piercing trill of the alarm cutting through the night, he’s armed and slinking out his window and into a shaded portion of the lawn in a matter of seconds.

Every sense is sharpened in the dark; he’s hyper-aware of the evening breeze carrying the rich scent of summer rain and greenery, his heartbeat in his ears. He steadies himself to watch and listen.

Nobody comes darting out of the treeline, weapons drawn and gleaming in the moonlight, nor does the cabin explode in a ball of arcane destruction. The drone of the alarm aside, it’s quiet.

Only then does his mind override years of practiced instinct and gently remind him that he’s on peaceful, isolated, picturesque Ereve - by all accounts, he should be safe. 

Still, there isn’t a single part of him that’s surprised to see the thin plumes of smoke that begin spewing out of the window on the first floor. 

He steps back into a deeper pool of shadows at the edge of the treeline and thinks. Either the enemy was trying to create a diversion, or was just plain _stupid_. No other alarms are sounding yet on the island, so he considers the latter. 

They could’ve sent assassins to smother them in their sleep, spiked their food, disabled the alarms and flooded the cabin with poisonous fumes, any number of inconspicuous and efficient things—

The main door slams open and he tenses immediately, shadows stretched tripwire-tight across the ground in an instant to snare their failed assailant. There’s a surprised shout as the shadows lash against the figure’s ankles and then what feels like the fucking _sun_ erupts in front of him.

A deafening, blinding _something_ crashes through him and he stumbles back, the ground quaking beneath him and nearly knocking him off of his feet, his ears ringing and vision searingly white. Before he can get his bearings, he’s tackled to the ground and lands so hard that his jaw rattles with the impact. Something blunt against his chest knocks all the breath out of him.

His daggers out of reach, he blindly slashes out with shadows instead at his assailant on top of him. The weight recoils and he seizes the moment to throw them off and get to his feet.

Adrenaline courses through him and screams to get his back against something, _anything_ , but he doesn’t have time to act because his assailant grapples him again and throws him face-first to the ground. His mask is knocked loose and goes skittering across the ground.

He thrashes, baring his teeth and trying to break their grip but their weight on his back is completely overbearing. His arms are twisted painfully behind him and held in a vice grip and he thrashes again, fully expecting the cold steel of a dagger plunging into his back, or the quick slash of a blade across his throat—

What he gets instead is a voice yelling in his ear. It’s muffled by the ringing and his loud heartbeat thumping in his ears, but the voice eventually starts to form words that make sense.

“Joker,” the voice is yelling, “gods above and below, Eckhart, _joker_ —"

Eckhart takes in the weight above him, their words, their grip, and immediately goes slack. The shadows around him sink back into the ground and the figure relaxes.

“Oh, gods,” the figure, _Hawkeye_ , pants, tumbling off of Eckhart’s back and all but collapsing to the ground next to him, propping himself up with his arms. “Don’t scare me like that. Ever. Again.”

Eckhart ignores him and turns onto his back. He needs to focus on catching his breath, as painful as it is. The world is still spinning and it’s so dark outside that he can’t tell where the forest line stops and the sky begins.

Absently, he thinks he might be concussed. But that’s not important right now.

“Where are they?” Eckhart rasps as soon as he’s able to.

Hawkeye’s outline is still blurry. “... Who?”

“The assassin,” Eckhart presses, a spike of anxiety making his voice break, adrenaline still surging through him, “where did they go?” 

“The _what_?”

“They must’ve,” he swallows, trying to stand. The world is refusing to right itself but he can’t let the assassin get away, he can’t— “The smoke, they must’ve… You didn’t see them?”

There’s a pause and then a peal of surprised, wheezing laughter. “Whoa, okay. Calm down and _stay down_ ,” Hawkeye says firmly, still trembling with laughter. He gets to his knees and presses down on Eckhart’s shoulders, keeping him from trying to stand again.

“Why are you laughing?” Eckhart demands, pushing away from Hawkeye. There’s not as much force behind the action as he expects; he weakly paws at him more than anything. “We have to stop them before—”

“I know a concussion when I see one. Stay down,” Hawkeye repeats breathily. Eckhart obliges only because he thinks he’d immediately throw up if he tried to stand. The world is still spinning, spinning... 

After a few moments, Eckhart’s eyes finally start to focus. They land on dark, shining gashes across the sides of Hawkeye’s torso, monochromatic but stark in the moonlight and soaking into his white pyjamas.

“The assassin,” Eckhart starts to say, his mouth forming words and barreling ahead of his brain, his hands coming up to gesticulate in the air for no real apparent reason, “they, I thought, you-? What? We have to, the assassin—”

“Was me, apparently,” Hawkeye says. Eckhart can tell he’s trying not to laugh but he can’t be bothered to be annoyed. “Relax.”

Eckhart takes a few deep breaths and tries to calm the nausea rolling around in his stomach. It’s going well until he catches a whiff of something burning and remembers to ask, “What about the smoke?”

Hawkeye has the decency to look sheepish. “I fell asleep and forgot a banana bread in the oven. My bad.”

“... You bake?” 

He shrugs, nods slightly. “For fun, mostly.” 

“But the alarm—” 

“A _smoke_ alarm, Eckhart.” Hawkeye’s really trying not to laugh now, maybe to preserve what dignity Eckhart has left. Or maybe because his sides are currently shredded and slowly bleeding him out. Eckhart doesn’t let himself think about either of those things right now.

“Have you never heard one before?” Hawkeye asks.

“No, not like this one,” he answers honestly after a moment of thought. Before he can stop himself, his thoughts continue to pour out of him. “Most of the time when I hear an alarm it’s because someone’s about to die, have the worst day of their life, or both.”

Hawkeye snorts. His tone is a little strained, his sentences coming out in short breaths. “Rina really wasn’t kidding when she said how jumpy and overdramatic you are.”

“Rina?”

“Irena,” Hawkeye clarifies, squinting at him. “You know, long green hair. Tall. _Super_ strong.”

His memory sputters but the image of emerald green hair comes to mind, at least. “... Right.”

After a minute or so, a small brigade of Piyo come charging down the road to investigate the alarm. Hawkeye waves over a medic to examine both of them. Eckhart’s prescribed three full days of bed rest while Hawkeye manages to get patched up and back on his feet the next day.

One of the medics says something about both of them being lucky; Eckhart, for missing any serious vital organs in his blinded efforts and Hawkeye, for having a failsafe to quickly subdue Eckhart. The rest of the conversation is lost in a concussive haze.

Hawkeye comes to visit, laughing off the fresh bandages across his torso when Eckhart eyes them guiltily. On the second day, he apologizes for nearly smiting him with a bolt of lightning and brings him a slice of fresh, uncharred banana bread.

It might be the concussion speaking, but it’s probably one of the best things he’s ever eaten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this canon, the chief knights (Eckhart/Hawkeye/Mihile and Irena/Oz) briefly lived together as an initiative from Cygnus to help them get to know each other better. Timeline-wise, Eckhart's been with the KoC for just a few months.
> 
> ofc if you spar with a lightning-shooting brawler without much control over his newfound abilities, a safe word is a very good thing to have.
> 
> Even though I really want to keep these drabbles to 500 words or less, my muses wouldn’t let me end the scene until Hawkeye got to poke fun at Eckhart for being so jumpy and Eckhart was kinda concussed out of his mind and more talkative than he usually would be.
> 
> That’s about it for this one! Comments and kudos are always appreciated but I’d love to hear from you all on [Tumblr](http://cardinnal.tumblr.com) too :)


	7. Hawkeye and Oz II + ?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oz finds comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the applicable tags for this chapter:  
> \- blood and injury  
> \- acute stress reaction  
> \- sensory overload (maybe?)
> 
> This drabble takes place about an hour after [chapter 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19085737/chapters/45343006).

Somehow, Oz manages to lead them both to the rendezvous point and help Hawkeye into the ship. Along the way, the scouts and scattered mercenaries that had tried to stand their ground were either chased away with flames or burnt to ashes. She refuses to think about their bodies in the snow.

Neinheart immediately descends upon Hawkeye’s injury, brandishing a whole spectrum of medical salves and bandages. He asks Oz a few questions but she barely registers that he’s talking to her, barely even understands that he’s there at all. She nods at whatever he’s saying and pushes past him into the main cabin. She stumbles and collapses onto the first bench she sees. Her blood-slick staff finally slips from her hands.

The adrenaline and fear that had driven her for the past hour starts to ebb, leaving behind a hollow feeling of exhaustion that permeates every inch of her. It’s a heavy weight, almost unbearably so. The stifled sounds of Hawkeye in agony ring in her ears, playing over and over in a horrible self-sustaining echo. She’s cold.

She wonders if he kept his voice down for her sake. She wonders if burning herself out to keep him warm made any difference. She prays to Alicia that he makes it. There’s a clatter somewhere in the ship, footsteps and loud shouts in the distance.

She can’t pull her stare away from her shaking, bloodied hands. She closes her eyes, shakes her head to clear it. Neinheart is tending to Hawkeye. He’s going to be fine. Everything is still too red.

After what feels like an eternity, a towel enters her field of vision. She considers it at length but her hand is already reaching out to take hold of it. Steam rises off of it, its heat an anchor that keeps her from drifting. She doesn’t know if she wants to scream or cry, or both.

Peripherally, a dark smudge joins her on the bench. The figure is still and quiet, and Oz is thankful. What could she even talk about at a time like this? She’s so _tired_.

The figure sits there for a long time. Suddenly, they stand and Oz’s hands can’t help reaching for her staff at her feet. All she has left in her are flickering embers, but she tries to stand, too. She has to make sure that they make it out alive, she has to protect them—

A firm hand on her shoulder keeps her in her seat. She blinks and stares at it. She doesn’t understand.

Another hand covers hers - the one that’s holding her staff - and gently eases the weapon out of her grip, laying it back on the ground.

A wide, heavy fabric is draped across her shoulders. The soft fur trim tickles her cheeks. The figure sits again and shuffles closer. Oz can’t help tipping her head against their side and chasing their warmth. She takes a deep breath for what feels like the first time in hours, and her mind clears a little. She’s safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to limit these drabbles to two characters (mostly bc I wanted to eventually write at least one drabble for each pair) but then another character unexpectedly snuck in at the end. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> It just didn't feel right to leave Oz alone on the bench like that. They're a team, aren't they?
> 
> Someday I’ll write a drabble where Hawkeye isn’t the one who’s hurt, I swear!! ;;;
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Come say hello on [Tumblr!](http://cardinnal.tumblr.com) :)


	8. Irena and Oz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irena receives an unexpected present.

Irena stares blankly at the prettily-wrapped box in her palm. It’s deceptively light. “... What is this?”

Oz looks up at her, smiling expectantly. “It’s your Maplemas gift! I got it for you when I was in Ardentmill. I hope you like it!”

Irena turns it over again. Inside, something metallic jangles around with the motion and her stomach inexplicably swoops at the sound of it. At Oz's hopeful expression, she doesn't have the heart to tell her that she doesn't celebrate Maplemas. “Do you want me to—?” 

“Yeah! You can open it right now if you want,” Oz answers quickly. Irena notes that she’s turning redder by the second. She's not entirely sure what to make of that, so she turns her focus to the box instead and opens it.

Inside, a pair of gleaming gold hoop earrings are nestled on a white cushion. Her cheeks immediately go warm at the brazen gesture. At the same time, a cold sweat breaks out across the back of her neck. They’re beautiful, but…

Oz fidgets at her reaction and her expression falters. “I know I haven’t known you for that long but I usually get all of my friends something for Maplemas, even if it’s something small,” she says hesitantly. She freezes for a moment when Irena's brow furrows but she carries on, trying to smile nonchalantly. “If we’re not exactly at that levelyet then I totally get it, y’know? No hard feelings, I promise. I could probably even return them if you don’t like them—“

“Thank you, Oz,” Irena says finally, her throat a little tight. She closes the box with shaky hands. “They’re… lovely. I just wasn’t expecting a gift from you, especially not something like this.”

Oz’s expression falls. “Do you not wear earrings? I’m sorry, I just thought—“ 

“No, no, that’s not it,” Irena hurriedly reassures her. She takes a breath to steady her pounding heartbeat. “These earrings are just a little…”

"Just a little...?" Oz echoes. She's fidgeting with her hands, a telltale sign of her nervousness that Irena's come to recognize over the few months the mage has been on Ereve.

 _Better now than never_ , Irena rationalizes with another breath. Before she can think twice and stop herself, she quickly tucks her long bangs aside to reveal her studded ears. She forces herself to turn away so Oz can see her profile. The box in her hand is heavy with implications.

Even though Irena can't directly see her, she feels Oz's stare on her for a long time. She fights the urge to recoil and cover her ears. Oz grew up in Ellinia, didn’t she? She must've taken some kind of local cultural studies course, right?

Oz is still staring, slack-jawed. The cold sweat across the back of Irena's neck is starting to make her tremble, and Irena desperately hopes that Oz understands. She has no idea how she would explain it to Oz if she didn't, or how she'd even respond if she were actually _serious_ —

“ _You’re a half-elf_?”

Her anxiety immediately gives way to relief at Oz's question, but all that's left is embarrassment. Irena's face is hot as she untucks her hair. She nods.

“Oh! _Oh, no_ ,” Oz squeaks. She frantically waves her hands between the two of them, her cheeks almost as red as her hair. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know! I think you’re um, really” — her voice jumps in pitch and speed — “ _really_ pretty and a very cool person, but wow! Um! I barely know you! It’s super inappropriate for me to just ask you out like this, isn’t it!”

Irena’s face is probably just as red as Oz’s right now. Her stomach does a nervous flip and she doesn't know what to say so she just nods again.

“Ohh, gods,” Oz moans, her voice muffled behind her hands. “I’m so sorry, Irena. If I'd known you were a half-elf then I never would've, oh, I-I should just,” she stumbles over her words and extends a hand, the other still clasped over her face and covering her eyes, “I should just return them right now. Let’s forget this ever happened.”

For all of her training and worldly experience, Irena has absolutely no idea what to do in a situation like this. Oz's hand is still outstretched to her expectantly, so she wordlessly returns the box to her.

Oz immediately clutches it to her chest, her expression scrunched up in a tight grimace. "I'm so sorry," she hastily blurts out again before turning and running, leaving Irena behind in stunned silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this done before Christmas but obviously that didn’t happen ahaha
> 
> These drabbles just keep getting longer and longer ;;
> 
> I realized that Growing Pains has a lot of blood/injury/hurt and not quite enough of the awkward social blunders that come with getting to know people. I’m going to see what I can do to balance it out a little bit...
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Come say hello on [Tumblr](http://cardinnal.tumblr.com)! Let’s talk about (half-) elven genetics and culture ;)


	9. Eckhart and Irena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irena has an epiphany.

About an hour after they rotate shifts, Irena tires of watching the empty streets below for any signs of movement and glances over her shoulder at Eckhart behind her. 

His back is flush against one of the rusting columns in the abandoned building they’d chosen to take watch from tonight. His arms are crossed loosely in front of his chest, steadily rising and falling only incrementally with his quiet breaths. Even when asleep, the shadows from the moonlight make his brow look like it’s constantly furrowed in deep thought.

She shivers and draws her blanket tighter around herself. It’s a brisk night and she can’t imagine that the solid steel at his back is particularly comfortable. After a brief debate, she’d agreed to forgo any kind of fire to avoid giving away their position like a light on a hill, but…

She sighs, turning her attention to the empty streets once more.

Another uneventful hour passes. Irena has to stifle a yawn; not a single creature has passed by her field of vision and the monotony of the moonlit urban environment is starting to wear her down. She reminds herself that she’s kept watch for targets in far worse conditions and occupies herself by rolling an arrow between her fingers.

Eckhart hasn't moved from his previous position; he’s eerily still in a way that only someone who’d been trained to sleep that way could be. He'd set his mask aside tonight, leaving him more vulnerable than she’s used to seeing him.

He trusts her to stay awake and keep them safe. She can't - no, she  _won’t_ betray that trust.

The sudden resoluteness of her own thoughts rattles her. It's enough to keep her awake for the rest of her watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked this shorter drabble enough to post, but I’m not really satisfied with it either. I might come back and edit/redo this chapter in the future.
> 
> With the way that Growing Pains jumps all over the place chronologically, I wonder if I'm doing my muses a disservice somehow by showing their growth in such a disjointed way? Especially because the only one who probably has any definitive sense of where these chapters fit relative to one another is me... 
> 
> Maybe I'll move a few chapters around or make some kind of illustrated timeline when I’m finally finished with Growing Pains? Hm.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Come say hello on [Tumblr](http://cardinnal.tumblr.com) :)c


	10. Oz and Mihile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mihile gets asked an unexpected question.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do once all of this is over, Mihile?” Oz asks once she’s caught her breath.

Mihile sets his practice sword aside and joins her on the grass. He hands her a water bottle that she accepts gratefully. “‘All of this’?” he echoes. 

“You know what I mean.” Oz sits up cross-legged with her hands braced behind her. “Gods forbid the Black Mage _actually_ comes back and we go to war or whatever, but you’re not going to be on Ereve forever, right? What are you going to do after?”

Mihile considers her question. “I just assumed I was going to serve the Empress for as long as she allowed me to, to be honest.”

“You’re... awfully loyal to her, aren’t you,” she says, both a question and observation.

He smiles fondly. “It’d be hard not to be, not after—” he abruptly cuts himself off. He hasn’t told Oz about Chromile yet.

She looks over at him. “After what?”

Mihile hasn’t known Oz very long, but he’s starting to understand that her cheerful demeanour hides a frighteningly keen mind so he shakes his head and stands. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

She pouts as he stoops to pick up his sword. “Ready for another round?” he asks.

Oz jumps to her feet. Flames travel down her staff and lap at its gem focus. “Sure, but if I win, you have to tell me what happened between you and the Empress,” she says with a toothy smile.

Later, while Mihile is helping Oz hold an ice pack to her bruised shoulder, he tries to envision what a future off of Ereve would be like, but his imagination comes up short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [aggressively avoids actual writing responsibilities by writing for Growing Pains instead] ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Ten whole chapters! And exactly 5000 words at that, assuming I don't go back and edit earlier chapters. I'm honestly kinda tempted to just wrap up Growing Pains here and leave it at such a nice number hahaha
> 
> Alas. I have more I want to write. Onwards and upwards, dear readers!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! I’m also on [Tumblr](http://cardinnal.tumblr.com) if you’d like to say hello!


	11. Eckhart and Hawkeye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye notices something odd.

One of the first things Hawkeye notices about the newest arrival on Ereve is that he’s _constantly_ on edge.

Sure, Eckhart’s eerily devoid of body language when he talks, but behind the mask that he’s stubbornly worn since he was dismissed from the medical ward, his eyes are always sharp and flickering, watching. His shoulders are constantly drawn tight, giving him a sort of hunched over silhouette beneath his cape. Even when he sits down for meetings, his hands twitch all the time, seemingly ready for action at a moment’s notice. He taps his fingers a lot, too. 

At first, Hawkeye doesn’t think much of it. People have all sorts of tics and habits; he drums his own fingers too when he’s bored, so he reasons that it’s just another one of Eckhart’s subconscious comfort gestures.

One morning, during their weekly briefing from Neinheart when he’s sitting next to Eckhart (still quietly tapping away), a distant memory clicks, and whatever Neinheart was briefing them on fades away.

Hawkeye spends the day flipping through the nautical history books in his room and refreshing his Morse code.

The next time he hears Eckhart tapping his fingers, it’s dinnertime. The other knights are there too, with Irena on Eckhart’s left and Oz and Mihile across them. Hawkeye makes an effort to tune out the din of conversation and catch its rhythm that’s vibrating through the table. It’s rapid, but its repetitive pattern gives him the time he needs to catch it.

_L-A-N-A. L-A-N-A. L-A-N-A._

A code? Or a name?

Hawkeye’s always been too curious for his own good. Without thinking, he gently elbows Eckhart in the side and blurts out, “Who’s Lana?”

Irena’s fork clatters loudly against her plate. Eckhart abruptly goes ramrod straight, gets up, and leaves.

He stops tapping after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK SO tapping out Morse Code against a surface like this makes it difficult for the receiver to tell the difference between dots/dashes/spaces, but it should be totally doable if they have line of sight. I thought about tap code as an alternative because it doesn’t need dashes/spaces, but it’s even less efficient :/
> 
> I hope everyone's staying healthy and safe out there!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! I’m also on [Tumblr](http://cardinnal.tumblr.com), but I'm sure y'all know that by now /laughs


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